What we have
by silverempire
Summary: It's all about choices. What if you had the chance to correct the only big mistake you made in your life? A oneshot McDean fic


**What**** we have**

Disclaimers: Just borrowing them, I will return them when I'm finished, I promise (crosses fingers).

Author's note: Sorry, I know you were waiting for another chapter in my other fic "Returning home", but I HAD to write this story, it's been haunting me for weeks now, I couldn't ignore it anymore…I promise the other one is on its way to an ending, I will post it soon.

Anyway, this is my second Hollyoaks fic, and it's entirely from Craig's POV. I hope you like it.

------

It's funny how life goes. This is what I kept repeating to myself as I exited the Courtroom that day. The air outside was chilly, and I shivered as I hastily buttoned my coat.

I should have been sad, grievous even, but I was somehow relieved that everything had finished, that I could stop pretending once and for all.

I turned to look at the Courthouse. The huge, grey building was meant to frighten people as their crimes were judged, but for me, it had become one of my best friends in the space of a few hours. I smiled as I murmured a silent 'thank you' to it.

At the bottom of the staircase I found her. My wife. The woman I had been married to for the last ten years, the woman I just divorced from. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, as she struggled not to scream and shout all her disgust at me in front of all the people passing by.

I acknowledged her presence with a nod. "Sarah…". Funny how I ended marrying someone who had the same name of an ex-girlfriend…I never noticed that coincidence before.

"Well, Craig," she sighed. "I'm going now. I'm staying at my mother's house for a while, then I… _we_ are moving to Manchester". She smiled, apparently getting a twisted pleasure in saying that.

I wanted to cry at this. As satisfied as I was that my hell of a marriage was over, I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing my son for the rest of my life. I tried reasoning with her. "But can I come to see JP before you leave, please, he's my son after all…" I unconsciously smiled as I pronounced my child's name, as I always did.

I named him after my first and by far only love, the one love I still cherished, the one love I lost some sixteen years before. Of course, my wife never knew about what happened in Chester all that time ago, but she had liked the name as soon as I suggested it, fortunately for me.

Sarah bit her lips as she struggled to remain calm. "Well, you should have thought about 'your son' before doing what you did, shouldn't you, Craig?", she hissed, pointing a finger at me. "You heard the judge. You cannot see him anymore, and if I find out you've come around to see him behind my back you will be in big trouble, I swear."

She looked away to where her lawyer was standing, then turned back to me. "Good-bye, Craig. I wish I was able to wish you well, but I honestly hope your life will be miserable from now on." She tiredly strolled towards her lawyer, who welcomed her with open arms. I was fairly sure by now that they were in a relationship, but I didn't feel any kind of jealousy towards him. It wouldn't have been fair, considering what I did to Sarah during our marriage.

I watched their car disappear in the traffic before making my way back home.

As I absentmindedly walked through the streets of London I thought back at everything that had led me to that moment. When I met Sarah I was 23, and I had just graduated from Trinity. I had come back to England to get a Master at Oxford University, and she was assigned to me as a tutor. Something about her struck me; her vitality, her cleverness (she was one of the youngest students to have graduated at Oxford), her beauty… Even if almost four years had passed since that fateful day at the airport, I had not come to counts with who I was yet, and I was still too coward to admit my sexuality, so I started dating her. To make a long story short, two years later we were married, living and teaching in one of the most important colleges in London, for the happiness of my mother and brother, who had shone at the news of me being back to normalcy, of me being a real man again.

But even though I would never consciously confess it, I was unhappy, I wanted so much more. I looked at Sarah, I kissed her, I made love to her, but I was never satisfied, and I don't mean just sexually, but _emotionally_.

I kept repeating to myself that I only had to adjust myself to my new condition of married man, that with time I would be so happy, and for a brief time I was. When my son was born I could barely restrain myself from shouting in contentment. He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and the thought that _I_ was the source of that miracle had made me weep.

But even that happiness faded away. Sarah took charge of caring for him, she was so jealous of him that I was completely cut out of my son's life. I couldn't feed him, hold him, change him, doing all those things fathers nowadays do. At home I was alone, Sarah barely acknowledged my presence, and JP was so unaccustomed to me that he would cry every time I got near him.

So I began to delay the time I got home.

I would find myself more often than not sitting in a pub after work, and before I knew it, the pub had become a gay bar.

I didn't know why I entered there the first time, but I guess it had to do with the fact that you cannot hide who you are for a long time, and even though I wasn't ready to confront myself with my teenage issues, I was so sexually frustrated that I couldn't sleep anymore, and when I did, I would have constant nightmares. I needed company, I needed to feel wanted, and I was so much more satisfied when having occasional sex with men than I ever was with Sarah.

I kept going to that gay bar for years, keeping it a secret from everyone. Surprisingly, my marriage started working, maybe because I didn't expect anything from it anymore. Sarah began to be more affectionate towards me, and I also started getting in touch with my son.

When looked from the exterior, our life seemed perfect; I was rapidly making a career, I became the youngest Headmaster in my college, I had a beautiful wife, a lovely son, how couldn't I be happy?

Yes, how? How could I continue to crave for lean muscles, for though bodies, for hot sex in a cheap motel, when I had all this? How did I manage to keep it a secret for all that time?

Sometimes I wondered if Sarah had known it all along, but kept the façade of the perfect family for the sake of her reputation in our community.

Well, I guess that, even if she didn't know, coming home to find her husband happily plunging his cock inside another man's mouth sort of dawned realisation on her.

I still remember that day. I had met this guy in the bar a couple of hours before, and I was struck by his resemblance to someone I had tried with all my might to forget. He was blonde haired, with this clean, innocent face, and he had a pair of the most incredible blue eyes. It didn't matter if the blue of his eyes just wasn't the right shade, and if his hair was not the perfect nuance of blonde, I immediately felt attracted to him.

We got acquainted in a few minutes, and, before I realized what I was doing, I was inviting him at my place. I never brought anyone home, before. I was always careful in distinguishing my family and my dirty secret life.

Sarah had gone out , I didn't know when she would have come back, but I thought I had all the time for a quickie, and I honestly didn't care that much if she found out. I was tired of lying, tired of cheating, tired of hiding myself. I guess I sort of wanted her to be home sooner, to see me that way.

The ensuing moment reminded me of a similar scene I lived sixteen years before. The shouting, the tears, the accusations, the disgust in Sarah's eyes before gathering all her things and storming out of the house, out of my life.

I've always been like this, I was never able to put an end to things, in fear I could hurt people, but, in doing so, I've always ended doing horrible stuff, and hurting even more people as well as myself.

I stretched my marriage to the point of no return, and in the end my son was the one who most suffered for it, the one who had now to grow up without his father.

Divorcing is never easy, but it is even more difficult if one of the parts hates the other with all her heart.. Sarah was determined not to let me near JP anymore, so she hired one of the most famous solicitors in London, and she fought with all her force against the joint custody I was asking for.

We battled for a year, and now there I was, walking through the streets of London all alone. Today was the day of the final sentence; I lost the cause, I could never see my child again because, as the judge blatantly put it, 'it isn't morally indicated for a child already traumatized by his parents' divorce to live in a promiscuous house'. I snorted, eliciting curious stares from the people around me. Bigot. After all I still remained a respectable member of the community; it was not like I would throw gay parties everyday with my eight year old child in the house.

I shivered as the wind became chillier, then smiled. Even the weather seemed to participate in my failure, but, as I said, I was glad everything had finished, that I was finally free.

I silently promised myself that from that moment on my life would go only where I wanted it to, no one would force me to do anything anymore, not even my mother or Jake. I tried so much to be the son she wished, the brother he wanted me to be, and I ended up living a lie for twelve years. It was time I cared for myself, it was time I was who _I_ wanted to be.

I stopped at a newsagent shop on the way home. I was so accustomed to buy a vast quantity of newspapers everyday that I absentmindedly entered the shop and started selecting my daily share of news. It was almost a non-written duty for a Headmaster in a prestigious school to be overly-informed about the facts happening in the world.

As I was making my way to the cash, something caught my eye, and made my breath catch in my throat.

A face I had not seen in the longest, longest time, a face that evoked such painful memories that I almost wept right there, a face that I had never stopped loving.

Looking at me through the cover of a famous women's magazine was none other than John Paul McQueen.

I hastily pulled out the magazine to get a closer look; he seemed not to have changed a bit, his contour still held that baby roundness I used to like so much, and his eyes were still shining with the most beautiful shade of blue I'd ever seen.

The cover title said: _'Visiting celebs' houses - An interview with John Paul McQueen, the man behind the DJ'_.

I was positively surprised to find that John Paul had made it, that he had realized his dream of becoming a DJ, and by the looks of it, a very famous one.

"Hey, are you paying for that or not?" The cashier urged me, and I was forced to avert my eyes from the magazine. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know what John Paul had confessed in that interview, but I quickly glanced at the picture again and all my doubts melted away.

"Of course," I replied, then added as if I wanted to somehow justify myself for buying it: "You know, it's for my wife…". The cashier knowingly nodded, and I inwardly cursed my cowardice.

Once home, I didn't even take my coat off before falling on the sofa and eagerly searching for the article. But, as I found it, my heart stopped, and a sadness I had never experienced enveloped me.

The article began by showing a huge, two-paged picture of what I supposed was John Paul's living room. Sitting on the sofa was John Paul himself, securely wrapped in the arms of a man. They were both smiling widely, like they had just shared some kind of joke and were still laughing about it.

It really was a beautiful picture, capturing all too well the intimacy and the tenderness between those two.

But there was something in John Paul's eyes as he was looking at the other man that tore my heart apart. I had seen so many times _that_ look in his eyes: a look that spoke volumes about his adoration, about the love he was feeling, but every time I saw it, it was directed at _me_, and for this reason alone I was already hating this new man in John Paul's life with every fibre of my being.

I began reading the interview: there was nothing interesting at first, just the facts about where he was born, where he had lived, how many sisters and brothers he'd got, where he graduated. Then the questions began turning towards his love-life. Apparently, the fact that John Paul had never hidden his being gay had made the women reading the magazine all the more interested in him, and the interviewer had chosen some questions that the readers themselves had posted on the magazine forum. The first question regarded how he found out that he was gay, and I found myself widely smiling as he answered that he discovered that he liked men when he fell deeply in love with his best mate at school. I felt like an over-excitable teenager as I read that; John Paul had just mentioned me in an interview, and even though he never actually said my name, that had to mean that he still remembered me.

As I kept reading, the world seemed to crumble at my feet, and the joy I had just felt was replaced by the cold and hard reality.

He easily dismissed what we had as nothing more than a teenage crush, some sort of mistake, and I couldn't believe my eyes at that.

Despite the years we had spent apart, John Paul still was the most important part of my life, the vital part; our kisses, our embraces, the way we were just there for each other were still fresh in my memories, and were all that kept me going on through the years. True, I screwed everything up in the end, but I hoped that he would cherish that period as much as I did.

How could he minimize our love after all that happened between us?

John Paul went on answering all questions, and recounting his love-life after my departure, finally coming to the man on the picture.

I made a disgusted face as I read his name: Antonio. I would have thought he would have more taste than that. I went back to the photo on the first pages, and for a brief, painful moment, I saw myself in that picture, smiling at John Paul in that loving way. It really could have been me, had I been not so stupid to throw it all away, had I been not so ashamed to love him the way he deserved.

I shook my head, and the other man had taken my place again. I wrinkled my nose: he was ugly too.

They had met at a party some six years before and they had not left each other since that moment.

Antonio was a famous interior designer, and (my heart missed a bit at that) he had just asked John Paul to marry him. The journalist went ecstatic at the news: she began pestering him with questions about the proposal and about how it was possible that the two of them could actually get married. I could almost envision John Paul blushing at the question while he told her that Antonio very romantically proposed on the beach at sunset – I snorted: how cliché – and that Antonio was half Spanish, and had a double citizenship, meaning that they could go to Spain and get legally married there.

I had to close the magazine at that, I couldn't go on reading. The same sentence kept repeating in my mind: _legally married… legally married… legally married_.

I had definitely lost him. You may think I had already lost him sixteen years before, but the hope that one day we could get back together never left me. I know now it was selfish (or stupid) of me to wish that, we had not seen each other for years, and it was most unrealistic that John Paul wouldn't have carried on with his life when it was exactly what I had done, but I had somehow begun to take for granted the fact that he had always been there for me, that he had always welcomed me back in his arms.

I needed him so much at that point of my life, I needed to apologize myself for doubting him, I needed to tell him that he was right all along, I didn't know who I was back then, but I did now.

But I didn't know how to contact him, where to find him.

I made a throughout research on the internet for the places where he worked as a DJ, and finally found what I was searching for. But I didn't want it to seem that I had purposefully organized our meeting, I needed John Paul to believe that it had been some kind of coincidence.

It's still unbelievable to me how much I was acting like an over-excited teenager during those days. I was so ecstatic at the thought of seeing him again that I almost forgot my duties as Headmaster. Only John Paul has ever been able to distract me from my studies or my work.

I started to spread the word at school that I wanted to arrange a sort of big night event, a gathering between all us teachers. I managed to make it look like I wished to see more interaction between us, more dialogue, and what would have been better than a night out? We could have dinner, and then go to some place to drink something.

The older teachers didn't hide their disdain at my proposal, making it clear that in the three hundred and something years the school existed no Headmaster had ever dared do something like that. Old rugs: according to them, even a school trip to a museum was out of the sacred tradition of the school.

Fortunately for me, I received very positive feedbacks from the younger ones, who got very excited at the idea: so there I was, one week later, standing outside some kind of disco, my colleagues happily chatting near me, surrounded by noisy teenagers and by even noisier music coming from inside the place.

I briefly wondered what I was doing there, I hadn't entered a place like that in years, and even when I was younger I had never been very fond of discos. Then the image of John Paul made its way in my head, and my resolve to see him again strengthened.

I spotted him as soon as I got inside: I had seen him many times like that, headphones on, rapidly changing records, completely absorbed in music, but this one time it struck me how completely wonderful he was looking.

I stood there in contemplation for I don't know how long, memorizing his every hair, remembering all about us, while trying to gather all the courage I had and make my way towards him, but my legs were so stoned that I couldn't move.

Someone pushed me from behind, and it was all the encouragement I needed to stroll to the stage where John Paul was. I climbed three little steps and stood behind him, gently touching his arm to obtain his attention.

"You shouldn't be here, the stage is reserved to DJs…" He said, with his back still turned at me, before slowly turning his head. I will never forget the look on his face, the utter disbelief as the vinyl record he held in his hands fell on the floor, shattering into pieces. He looked at me for the longest time, his mouth agape, his hands now holding thin air, before murmuring "Craig…" with an almost inaudible voice.

I didn't know what to do, what to say, I had this evening planned in my head for a week and now that I was before the object of my every thought I couldn't do anything but stare into his eyes and finding myself falling deeper and deeper. John Paul had not moved from where he stood, although the music had finished, and the disco had gone silent. I was disappointed: maybe going there had not been the smartest of ideas, John Paul didn't seem so happy to see me.

Then something happened. He broke into the most beautiful and happy smile before shouting: "Craig!", and embracing me tightly. I felt myself relaxing in his arms, and releasing the breath I unconsciously was holding. He let me go, and grabbed me by my shoulders taking a close look at me. "Oh God, it's so good to see you! How you've been? What are you doing here? It's been what? Fifteen years?"

"Sixteen", I corrected him with a smile. I never stopped counting the days.

"Sixteen years…" He repeated, in disbelief, then shook his head as if he just remembered something. "Wait here a sec," he said, before putting on another record, then turned back to me. "Craig…" He repeated again, with a dreamy smile on his face. It looked like he wanted to make sure I was really there by saying my name over and over. Not that I complained though, I always loved the way he pronounced it. "So, what brings you here?"

"Well, it's a coincidence, really," I lied, gesturing at the teachers gathered below the stage, all staring at us, at me, in bewilderment. "I'm here with some colleagues from work. Then I saw you and I guessed I had to say hello."

"Well, of course you had to, wouldn't have forgiven you if you didn't." He affectionately patted my arm. "I'm so happy you're here…" he said. His eyes did not leave mine for a second, while an uncomfortable silence dropped between us.

John Paul shifted from one foot to another for a bit, before resuming his work, and changing another record. He turned to me again. "I'm sorry I cannot pay too much attention to you," he apologized, "but I have to work."

I'm sure my face fell, and he noticed, for he hastily added: "But I want to talk to you, we need to catch up, I want to know everything."

"Maybe after you've finished here we can go somewhere and talk." I hopefully suggested.

He seemed to like the idea for a second, but then shook his head. "I can't, sorry. Antonio, my boyfriend, is coming to pick me up after work. He doesn't want me to get home on my own when it's too late, he says it's too risky."

Damn Antonio and his protectiveness, always in the middle.

"Sorry,", I said, a little too angrily. "I shouldn't have come here, it was a bad idea". I turned to leave when I felt a hand firmly gripping my arm.

I turned to look at him, and what I saw made my heart melt. John Paul's eyes were locked with mine, a determined glint in them. He absentmindedly started caressing my forearm with the tip of his fingers, and I almost moaned in pleasure at the touch. "Wait, I…I do want to see you again, please Craig, don't go." He took a napkin and hastily scribbled something on it. "Here. That's my address. You can come to my place tomorrow afternoon. Antonio is going out to play golf, and I will be home alone. Please, Craig, say you'll come."

Who was I to refuse that invitation, when John Paul was looking at me with those pleading eyes?

The next day I was outside his door, nervously fidgeting with my tie. I shouldn't have worn it, I was probably dressed too formal for a reunion between old friends, but I had spent the whole morning deciding what to wear, and I wanted to make a good impression on John Paul.

Doubt gripped my heart as my hand raised to knock the door: What would I say to him? What did I exactly expect from this meeting? Was I a fool for hoping against hope that we could still regain what we had in the past? And, supposing that we did, what would people say - what would my mother say?

I felt afraid all of a sudden, and I considered my possibilities: I had not knocked yet, he would never know I had been debating with myself over old issues on his doorstep. I could run away now, like I had always done in my life. … and lose any chance to see John Paul again. That picture on the magazine came back to my mind, then, and all the regrets, all the pain and unhappiness I had been feeling since I left Chester made their way back to my heart.

Life is made of choices, someone said. They could never know how much I agreed with that sentence.

I had made the wrong one sixteen years before, when I let the love of my life walk away from me. That's what strengthened my resolve. I could not back away now, not when I had the chance of making the right choice, not when I had the possibility to put everything back into place.

I took a deep breath and firmly knocked. I heard quick footsteps, the sound of something crashing on the floor and a muffled 'Shit!' before the door swung open, a smiling but heavily panting John Paul behind it.

My heart stopped as I saw him, and I had only one word to describe the way he looked: vision.

Judging from his clothes, it seemed he was as eager to make an impression as I was. And if his breathless status could prove anything, he had rushed to the door as soon as I knocked. Was he so impatient to see me? What did all that mean?

John Paul was the portrait of perfect happiness as he greeted me. "Craig!", he said, "I'm glad you've actually come…Please, come in, make yourself at home…"

He showed me the way to the living room, and I felt sad as I took a look at my surroundings. It was exactly like in the picture. I had tried for a week to fool myself into believing that the whole article was some kind of set-up, that the picture was the result of a photo-editing.

But now I was seeing it, now it was _real_, and that made even John Paul's relationship with Antonio more concrete.

I took a seat on the sofa, John Paul beside me. We stood like that for some moments, in total awkwardness, avoiding each other's stare. I wanted to say something, anything to cut the heavy silence between us, but I was too nervous.

I felt him shuffle, before standing up and smiling at me. "Tea?" he asked. "I'd like it, thanks." I answered, somehow relieved.

He went to the kitchen, and came back after a few minutes carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea. I briefly had the urge to smash the mug John Paul was holding out to me, as I wondered if it was Antonio's, and I faintly chuckled at my unjustified jealousy.

"What are you laughing at?" John Paul asked, curious.

"Nothing," I lied. "Just thinking that I saw your photograph on the cover a women's magazine the other day." That was not much of a lie, actually. I was really thinking about a picture on that magazine, even though I was mentally making a voodoo ritual on Antonio's face.

He went red, and I couldn't help thinking he was really cute. "Yes, well, I didn't mean to release that interview, but they insisted so much, said they wanted to portray the life of a gay celebrity. Not that I'm one…celebrity I mean, but they said I was the most popular DJ in England…And then the photo shoot, they wanted me to try and look sexy, but you know I'm no model…"

I laughed at this last sentence. If there was something John Paul didn't need to do was trying to 'look' sexy. He just 'was' sexy, at least in my eyes. I interrupted him. "I really liked that picture. It's beautiful."

His eyes got wide as saucers as he replied: "You really think so?"

"Yes, I do". I answered, and the truthfulness of it surprised even myself.

We stood in silence for a couple of minutes while drinking our tea.

"So, how is it going between you and… Sarah, is it?" His question startled me. How did he know about Sarah? And why did he sound so hurt when he pronounced her name?

"How do you…" I started, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Frankie," he said, as if it explained everything. At my perplexed look, he went on. "She told my mother everything: how you met, when you married, when you had your first child…She never lets a chance go missing to remind my mother that, unlike me, her son is actually straight, _normal_…"

I felt so guilty, partially because I was not so straight as my mother thought (she still didn't know the real reason behind my divorce), and partially because she went on boasting about something that wasn't true.

"Sorry," I started apologizing, but he shook his head. "There's no need to be sorry, Craig, it's not like I care what she thinks of me, and, to be honest, I'm glad she couldn't keep her mouth shut, at least I was able to know something about your life." He looked directly at me, and I felt so warm and protected under his gaze that I didn't want him to ever look at anyone, just me. "At least I know you're happy".

Well, happy was not a word I could easily associate with my person, especially considering the mess I had made of my life.

"I… I didn't think you would want to know anything about me anymore after that day at the airport, I didn't think you would still…" I stopped. I wanted to say 'care', but I wasn't sure if that could be the right moment, I wasn't sure if I really had the right to hope.

He chuckled, as if he had caught the meaning behind my silence. "Of course I still do. I will always care for you, I will always want to know if you're well, Craig. What we had is too important, it's not like you can shrug it away to let it go."

I instantly felt the urge to put my arms around him, to bury my head in his shoulder, and weep like a child, as his arms comforted me, and his warmth enveloped me. I didn't do any of that.

"I'm not well, John Paul. I'm not happy, I haven't been for the longest, longest time." I confessed, instead.

It was the first time I said it out loud in twelve years. I had never talked about my unhappiness with anyone. The only true friend I had ever had was now sitting beside me, it was just natural he would be the first one to know about my pain, and if the concerned look in his eyes was telling me something, in that precise moment I understood he really did care, despite everything.

John Paul's protectiveness took charge in less than a second. I felt his arms around me, enveloping me tightly, as I broke down crying for the first time in years. I don't think I will ever know how he always managed to understand what I needed most. As he tenderly rocked me, I felt all the sadness, the regret, all the frustration slip away from me bit by bit, until my tears subsided.

His hold of me didn't falter for a minute, not even when I recounted the sad story of my marriage, of those men I slept with, of my divorce, ending up to the definitive loss of my son.

"I'm sorry Craig, I didn't know… And you've never told any of this to anyone?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No, I couldn't. I'm so ashamed of myself, I'm so disgusting…" I felt John Paul's hand gently wipe away the tears on my cheek, as his other arm embraced me even tighter. "You're not disgusting, Craig. Don't you ever think that. You were just miserable, alone. Everyone makes mistakes, but what's important is that we can always correct them. I know it won't be easy, but everything will work out right for you, I'm sure of it. You are not alone anymore, you have me now, and you know you can always rely on me. I will help you…I'm still your best mate, right?", he asked me, uncertainty in his voice.

I would have laughed if his question wasn't so serious. I never had any friend before or after him. "You are. The best I've ever had," I answered, in all sincerity.

He smiled his brightest smile at that point, and lowered his head, embarrassed.

"I named my son after you." I don't know why I felt I had to blurt that piece of information out in that precise moment, but I needed John Paul to know just how important he was to me.

He immediately raised his head, and disbelievingly looked at me. "What?" He asked, nervous. "Why?"

"I just wanted something to always remember you by. I didn't want to forget how much I loved you… so I named the only other being I've ever truly loved in my life after you."

John Paul looked moved by my confession. "And have you?" He stared at me, breathless.

"What?" I stupidly asked him.

"Have you forgotten how much you loved me?", he asked again, while his face came closer to mine.

I leaned in until we were just millimetres apart, and I slightly shook my head.

"I can't forget, not while I always think of you, not while I still do love you", I answered, truthfully, then waited. I didn't have to wait for long, though.

John Paul kissed me. Violently, passionately, hungrily. He assaulted my lips with a fervour I would never have associated with him. Not that I wasn't responding with the same enthusiasm. I had been waiting for this for sixteen years. This completeness, this warmth, the smoothness of his lips pressed against mine, the hotness of his tongue inside my mouth. Our hearts beating together. I knew, then. I understood what I had been searching for all along, and I cursed myself because I had it, all of it, and I stupidly let it go.

"I love you, John Paul," I whispered, breathless, as we briefly parted. I never took too much time in saying it to him while we were together, but I silently vowed that I would not repeat the same mistake again this time.

He smiled and looked at me with _that_ look. My heart melted. "Love you too," he tentatively whispered back, like he wanted to make sure he had heard correctly.

It was my turn now to claim his lips in a searing kiss, one I would have never wanted to end.

My hands started, on their own accord, to wander around his back, his torso, everywhere I could reach. I was feeling a desire I had never experienced before, and I knew I wanted him, I wanted to make love to him. I slowly let his lips go, and searched for his consent in his eyes. The blue shade in them was darker as he nodded, then kissed me again.

I began to unsuccessfully fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and I swore, feeling frustrated like a hormonal teenager at his first experience. John Paul slightly chuckled against my mouth at my clumsiness, murmuring: "Calm down, there's no hurry, I'm not going to go anywhere."

"I want you, John Paul, I've wanted this for so long…" I replied in a whisper, as if that could explain anything.

He stood up and took my hands in his, motioning me to get up as well. "I know. But we've waited for so long, Craig, and I don't want to rush things. We need to take our time."

I could see the point in his words, so I firmly nodded.

He led me to the bedroom, where we resumed our kissing session. I slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his chest and shoulders, and I looked at him. He was beautiful, even more than the last time I saw him. "You're beautiful," I said. I couldn't keep that consideration to myself, I had to share it with him. He blushed, and shook his head in denial. He never had too much self-esteem.

I still remembered the only other time I ever made a comment on his looks. I had just told him I loved him, and hinted that I was choosing him over Sarah. We had made love for the first time then, and I understood that it really wasn't just the sex. We were laying in bed, in the aftermath, and I was still panting from the exertion, my head on his chest, my arm draped over him. My mobile was ringing, but I took no notice of it, just buried my head even more in John Paul's chest. I just was too happy in that moment, I didn't want anything to disturb that. I felt his lips on my head, and his arms tightening around me, and I knew I had made the right choice. Sleep was claiming me, but before I gave in, I needed John Paul to know that I would always choose him over Sarah, even when I did nothing to make him believe it, even when he would see me snogging her. So I said it. 'You're beautiful'.

And he still was. In every meaning of the word. I started kissing his neck and shoulder-blade, while I let his shirt fall on the floor, and his moans of pleasure were ringing in my ears. He loosened my tie, and began to undress me, as his hands were wandering around my body, arousing me.

We fell on the bed, laughing, as I continued to kiss and lick his torso, eliciting louder moans from John Paul. "You're too dressed", I heard him say in complaint; I chuckled, then removed my own shirt and pants. "And now?" I asked.

He looked at me in pure adoration. Oh, how much I had been missing that look in his eyes…"That's better", he replied, smiling. I thought my heart would burst with the intensity of the emotions I was feeling. I began to unzip his pants, then I took them off together with his briefs, revealing his now almost erect cock. I enveloped it in my mouth, and I felt his hands in my hair, caressing my scalp, as he murmured incoherent words, among which I could distinguish 'love you'. The volume of his voice began to increase as I brought him to climax, and he came screaming my name. I smiled then kissed him thoroughly, letting him taste himself in my mouth. I was so proud that he still wanted me, that I was still able to arouse him, and give him pleasure.

"Please, Craig," he begged, "I want you inside me now." It was all the encouragement I needed to begin preparing him.

"I love you", I whispered as I entered him. His warmth enveloped me, arousing me even more. I began to thrust into him at a slow pace at first, then faster and faster, and the intensity of his moans raised, mingling with mine as I reached the perfect release I had been denied for sixteen years.

I collapsed over him, totally exhausted, but happy like never before. I extracted my now soft shaft from his hole, and embraced him tightly as I closed my eyes in pure contentment. I felt him shift under me, and I tightened my arms. "Don't go," I heard myself whispering. He chuckled. "I'm just going to get a towel to clean us up a bit, Craig, or we'll be all sticky when we wake up. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Don't go," I repeated, more firmly. I didn't want to let him out of my reach, not anymore.

"All right," he conceded. I shifted so that we were now facing each other, our legs tangled, our arms around each other. I kissed him, slowly, languidly. "I love you," I repeated when we parted. "I've never stopped loving you, not for a second." I know it sounded a bit cliché, but I didn't care, for it was the truth, and I had my reward when John Paul's eyes filled with unshed tears and he replied: "I've always loved you, Craig. I couldn't forget you. Not for a second.". I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand, as I felt my own tears prickling at the back of my eyes. We let sleep claim us like that, embracing tightly, with unspoken promises of our future life together hanging in the air.

I felt a strong hand shaking me some time later, and John Paul's voice waking me. "Craig!", he called, "Craig! wake up!" I smiled as my eyes opened, and the first thing that greeted me was his beautiful face. I glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. I had been sleeping for an hour. "Good evening," I saluted him with a kiss, to which he didn't respond. "What's up?" I asked him, concerned.

"You have to get up and go, Antonio will be here in a few minutes. What have I done? What have we done, Craig?" He frantically asked me, tears in his eyes. He turned away from me, shaking his head, continuously repeating 'What have I done?'. I embraced him from behind, and put my head on his shoulder. "Shhh, I'm here, I'm with you. You don't have to worry about a thing. I will help you explaining him everything that happened." I told him. Now that we were back together he wouldn't have to face anything alone.

"What's there to explain , Craig?" He asked me, defiance in his voice. He turned again to look at me, and I shivered at the coldness in his eyes. "Nothing happened between us", he finished.

My heart froze. "But I thought that we…"

"We what? Did you think I would throw six years of my life away just because I let you suck my cock?"

I was shocked. We had just made love, we confessed that we still loved each other. That had surely to mean something. "You said you loved me, John Paul. We made love," I replied, a little more angrily than I intended.

"Oh, please, Craig, try to grow up a bit, would you? What were you thinking? That I would welcome you again in my arms after sixteen years just because you came here saying some nice things to me? I'm not a stupid eighteen-year old in love with the idea of love anymore, I won't easily fall for your empty words and crappy promises like I used to do. I've been living with Antonio for six years now, _six years_. How much time did I spend with you? I know him like I've never known you, Craig. He loves me, he really does, and he's not afraid of showing it to me. I don't have to beg for his attention all the time, and we are going to Spain to get married in three weeks. There's no way I would throw the life and happiness I so hardly built away for you. Now, please, get dressed and just get out."

I nodded slowly, as I began to dress up, while he hastily changed the sheets on the bed.

Funny how life goes, huh? Just an hour ago I was the happiest man on earth, I thought I had my life back on track, and now I didn't know what to think anymore.

I motioned to go, but I quickly turned back, and embraced John Paul from behind. His words had hurt me, more than he would ever know, mostly because they were partially true. I always took him too much for granted, I used to say two or three nice words and I knew I would always have his forgiveness.

But not this time. I couldn't go away and let him believe I came to him for a quick, emotionless shag. He tried to wriggle free from my arms, but I didn't let go. "I meant what I said, John Paul, I do love you. I know it's selfish of me to believe you would take me back after all this time we spent apart, but that is what you do to me. I'm selfish when it comes to you, I don't want to share you with anyone. I don't want you to suddenly throw away your long-term relationship for me, but I beg you, please, think about it, and if you find it in yourself you love me more than him, you know where you can find me. I'll be there waiting." I knew it was preposterous of me to say that, but I truly believed that I would have waited for John Paul all the time it took; and anyway, I had no life without him.

"You'll be waiting for a long time, then, Craig," he simply answered, his back turned to me.

It saddened me that this time I wouldn't be able to look into his eyes as we said goodbye. I loosened my arms, and let them fall limply at my sides. I know now that I was crying, but I didn't take notice at the time. I slowly turned my back on him and walked away from the apartment, away from the love of my life once again, though I wasn't sure that I would have been able to survive it this time.

The days passed by, and I found myself settling back to my routine. I would go to school, work hard, talk to my students and to my teachers, try to solve their problems, then go back home. Everyday like this. I couldn't take it anymore, and, frankly, this wasn't the life I had imagined for me. Days turned to weeks, and before I could realize it, three weeks had passed since that afternoon. I had circled the date on my calendar. Today was the day when John Paul and Antonio were leaving for Spain.

My heart was numb, I had no hope left. I hadn't seen John Paul since that day, he hadn't come around. I had waited, and waited, but he didn't show up. How stupid I was. He was happy, he had moved on without me, and he was now about to get married.

I loved him, and I know I should have been happy for him, but I wasn't. I've always been selfish, I know, and John Paul belonged to me, not to Antonio. It was me he should have married, it was me he should have been with. There were the parents of a particularly difficult student in my office, they were talking to me about their son, but I didn't pay any attention to them.

I stood up from my chair as the words 'John Paul is mine' were ringing in my head, then stormed out of my office without so much as a word to the bewildered people inside.

I was determined to win John Paul's love back. He would have seen how much he loved me when I had finished with him. I would go to the airport and stop the plane, anything to let him know how much I cared.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts as I strolled down the park in front of the school that I almost missed his figure leaning against a tree. I gasped as I saw him; he had been crying, I could tell from his bloodshot eyes, and he was in such a distressed state that I almost couldn't recognize him. There were two suitcases dropped on the ground.

"John Paul…" I breathed, "What are you doing here?"

He broke down crying, as his arms circled my shoulders.

"I…I left him, Craig. I left him…", he sobbed into my neck. I was faintly aware of the looks the people passing by were giving us, but I didn't care as I tightly held him.

"What happened, John Paul?", I asked him again while stroking the back of his head in a gesture of comfort.

He raised his head to look at me, and my heart broke at the sight of him. "I…We were at the airport, and he was so happy, he continued to repeat me how happy we would be once we got married, but I couldn't hear him. I kept thinking about you, about how it had felt being with you again. That feeling, that love, it has never been so strong with Antonio. I've never loved Antonio like I love you, Craig…and it has never felt with him like what it feels being with you. I knew that I couldn't go to Spain and marry him, it just didn't feel right. What we have between us is overwhelming, I couldn't ignore it anymore. So I ran away from him, left him in the middle of the airport, and I came here, I had to see you…I'm a horrible, horrible person…" He buried his head again in my neck, and I mentally smirked. I know I should have been sorry for the poor guy, left alone in an airport without knowing why, but I couldn't bring myself to care for his fate.

I was the horrible person, for messing with my John Paul's head after all these years, for making him doubt his love for Antonio, for rekindling the love he felt for me, and for being so selfish.

"Shhh," I whispered in his ear, "Please, John Paul, don't cry. You are not a horrible person, you are the most wonderful person I've ever met. All of this is my fault, I shouldn't have come to you and said those things, I shouldn't have put you in this situation. I'm sorry, I just wanted to make you happy, and I made you cry again. It seems I'm not able to do anything but making you cry."

"But you do", he replied. "You do make me happy, Craig. I lied when I said that I didn't believe that you loved me, I did, I do. It's true, you make me cry as well, but I'd rather have that and being with you than not having you at all."

He tightened his hold of me, and I felt lost in his embrace. I loved him so much, and I wanted to prove it to him. I fell on my knees before him, and took his hand. The people around us stopped to watch the scene with some interest, but I couldn't care less. My mind was all focused on the wonderful man in front of me, who was now quizzically looking at me.

I stroked his hand, tenderly, as I struggled to find the right words.

"You make me happy too, John Paul. I've never felt as happy as I am when I'm with you. I love you with all my heart, and, if you give me the chance, I swear I will love you like you deserve for the rest of my life. I don't have a Spanish citizenship, I know we couldn't properly get married here in England, but we could sign a civil union, and I can promise you that it would be exactly like a marriage to me. Please, John Paul, marry me."

I waited for his answer, my head bent low, expecting a firm rejection. After all, how could he trust me, when I didn't do anything to make him believe me?

In a second he was on his knees too, and the miracle that I didn't deem possible happened: his soft lips were on mine, and his arms were around my neck, taking the breath out of me. He let my lips go for a moment, murmuring a breathless 'Yes', before resuming the kiss he had just interrupted. We stayed like that for I don't know how long, not caring about the people gathering around us, not minding anything but ourselves. I took his hand after a while, helping him to stand up, and sweetly murmured to him: "Let's go to my place," even though whenever I looked at him, I already felt I was home.

**Epilogue**

I look at my computer and I almost scream out in frustration. I scratch the back of my head, trying to gather some ideas, but my mind is totally blank. I feel two arms encircling my neck from behind, and a sweet kiss on my ear, and I smile in spite of myself.

"Have you finished it?" he asks me, in trepidation.

"The ending sucks," I coldly reply, patting my thighs so that he knows he can sit on my lap, and read what I've been writing. He probably wasn't expecting anything else, for he heavily lets himself fall on my legs, taking the breath out of me. He scrolls down the whole tale, eagerly reading everything.

"So?", I ask him with some impatience when he's finished. I want to know what he thinks of it.

"Do you still think I'm beautiful?" he flatly replies, turning to look at me.

I take my time to observe him closely. He's changed a lot since we got married, some twenty-five years ago. The blonde in his hair has now been replaced by white and grey, his face is not as smooth as it was before, and his body is not so lean and toned anymore, but yes, he still turns me on whenever I look at him. "You are, John Paul. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen", I truthfully answer him.

He shakes his head, chuckling. "Flatterer. You're only saying that because you want a good review from me."

I laugh out loud at that. "You know I don't need to use this kind of tricks, my works just naturally inspire good reviews."

"Umph, continue repeating that, it may become true, someday", he murmurs against my lips, before claiming them in a searing kiss. How he still manages to arouse me with just one kiss is still a mystery to me.

"You've not answered my question yet," I point out as we part.

"Oh, yeah right. I agree with you, the ending sucks, it's too sappy."

He lets his head rest on my shoulder, as y arms encircle his torso. I still love him so much it hurts, if possible my love for him has strengthened with the passing years.

"I love you," I say, with apparently no connection to our discussion.

"Love you too," he replies, absentmindedly playing with the hair on my nape.

"What do you suggest? I've re-written it a thousand times, I don't know how to make it look better."

"Well, you could write about us today, about how our life has changed since that day. Why do you want to finish it with the proposal?"

"Because it was my finest moment, and you know it…" I playfully reply.

John Paul evilly smirks at me. "True. And this reminds me… How come you are not so romantic anymore? You never say anything like that to me nowadays. Is our love definitely gone?"

I violently kiss him at this point, and my arms tighten around his waist. His skin is more sensitive now that he is older, he would probably get a bruise by tomorrow. "Don't you ever say that. You know I still love you." My possessiveness of him has never faltered during the years. I still need him to feel he belongs to me.

"I know. And you know I'm yours, right?" he asks me, while looking at me in the eyes.

"I do." And it surprises me how true it is.

I think back at our life together, twenty-five years are enough to write a dozen books, not just one. I would probably never be able to put down in words the way John Paul has completely changed my world, the way his love has enlightened me when I needed it the most.

I lean in to kiss him again, I will never tire of his lips, of the sweetness that is his mouth.

"Ow, granddad, please, get a room, would you?" John Paul laughs against my lips as we recognize the voice of Naomi, my granddaughter, JP's child. She always says we are a couple of dirty old men, always snogging like teenagers, but it's not my fault if every time she comes home she finds us in some kind of 'activity'.

But I love her dearly, I don't know what I would do without her, and without JP.

Yes, I still see my son. I thought I had definitely lost him, but John Paul managed to find a very good solicitor, and I won the appeal I lodged against Sarah for the joint custody of JP.

It still amazes me how quickly John Paul and my son made friends, and how smoothly JP accepted that his father was gay and living with another man. I asked him about it, once, and he answered me that it was not that difficult to understand it when the love we felt for each other was so clear in our eyes. I've never felt so near to my son like I did that day.

I quickly glance at John Paul, who is still smiling at me. "You know, I think the ending is not so bad, after all," I say, "I want the readers to just imagine our happily ever after. This" I gestured to us and to Naomi, "is too private to share it with others. I don't want to spoil it."

His smile widens as he lightly kisses me.

It's really funny how life goes. And I wouldn't change mine for anything in the world.

**END**

So??? I hope you liked it.

Waiting for your comments, as usual.

This was inspired to me by a wonderful song, which, in my opinion seems to have been written for our boys. I won't tell you which song it is until you've reviewed me…

P.s.: I know the name Antonio is not so good, but I needed a Spanish name, and the only Spanish actor that came into my mind was Banderas… I wonder why.

P.p.s.: The sex scene is crappy, I know it, but please, be patient with me, it's the first one I've ever written… I was a bit embarrassed…


End file.
